


Take Me To Church

by eternaleponine



Series: Love In Inappropriate Places [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Church Sex, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 13:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18718327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: This isDreamsAreMyWords' fault.  She knows what she did.Or, Clarke and Lexa attend a wedding.  A chance encounter in the church bathroom leads to them missing the wedding... and the reception... and cake...





	Take Me To Church

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DreamsAreMyWords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsAreMyWords/gifts).



"Sorry, excuse me, sorry, so sorry," Clarke whispered as she edged past people, trying her best not to accidentally stick her ass in anyone's face, or brush her breasts against the back of the heads in front of her. Who the hell had decided the space between church pews should be so narrow, anyway? Was it intentional, to make it as awkward as possible to get out so people just... didn't? If there was no easy method of egress, they would have no choice but to stay put and listen? 

_Ugh,_ Clarke thought. _Probably._

It seemed like the kind of fucked up thing that the church – a church, they weren't all the same, and she guessed probably not all of them were evil, in fact this one probably wasn't, considering she was here to witness two men marrying each other – might do. Or might have done in the past, when it was built, and it wasn't like you were going to change the seating just because you evolved your mindset on certain issues. 

But for fuck's sake, she needed to pee, and it didn't sound like the minister was going to be winding down his speechifying any time soon. 

She finally made it to the end of the row, nearly tripping over the foot of the older gentleman that had claimed the aisle seat... but when she glanced back to apologize to him, he winked, and she hurried away as fast as she could in high heels down the sloping floor. 

Once she was free of the sanctuary, she sucked in a deep breath, and made her way through what appeared to be some kind of meeting room-slash-lounge, with a big wooden table and musty old couches, and what appeared to be a spare lectern. Pulpit? Whatever it was called in a church. 

Another door took her through to a small hallway, and, thankfully, the bathrooms. She ducked into one of the stalls, hiking up her skirt and pushing down her stockings, and let out a deep sigh – almost a groan – as the pressure on her bladder was finally released. 

She leaned back a little, her eyes drifting closed, and instantly the image of a sleek, frame-hugging little black dress popped into her head, skimming over gently curved hips, the hem falling just close enough to the knee that it wouldn't be considered distasteful for a church wedding, but just high enough that a hand wouldn't have far to travel if one was...

Clarke squirmed, digging her nails into her own thigh to try to stop the dull ache that was beginning to pulse between her legs. _You are in a fucking church, for fuck's sake!_

But she couldn't stop thinking about the way the waist had pinched in, and the way the swell of the woman's breasts had strained against the material, just a little, but it was stiff enough to keep everything in place, and Clarke was almost sure that there was no bra – not even a strapless one – underneath. And hot on the heels of that thought was how much she would enjoy finding out if her hypothesis was correct.

Her breath caught, and she bit her lip, stilling for long enough to confirm that the minister was still droning on before slipping a hand between her legs. The tip of her middle finger grazed her clit, and she pushed it deeper, into her slick, engorged folds, and let her imagination – and fingers – roam.

* * *

The smell of the flowers was giving her a headache, and every mention of the word 'God' drove a spike through her skull. Not that she had anything against God; it was his followers that she had a problem with. And not these people in particular; she didn't know most of them, and they seemed like decent folk. But she'd grown up in a small town where church attendance was mandatory, and it had been all hellfire and brimstone and it had felt like every week the sermon was aimed directly at her, telling her that everything she wanted, everything she was, was wrong. 

That's not what was being said here, now, today, but it didn't matter. 

"Excuse me," Lexa whispered, even though she'd made sure to get a seat at the end of a row, and made her way quickly to the exit... only to discover that the door she'd chosen didn't go outside but further in, and she was Daniel walking into the lion's den, Jonah being swallowed by the whale. She would come out the other side okay, probably, but what trials would she face getting there?

Her heels clicked dully on the wooden floor, and she finally spotted a sign for a restroom and ducked inside, locking the door behind her so she could have a minute – just a minute – alone.

Except she wasn't alone. At first she thought she'd imagined the quick intake of breath, but it was followed by a longer, louder exhale, almost a moan, and oh shit, someone was in here, and they were... crying? Fuck. She did _not_ know how to deal with someone crying right now. And why would they be crying? Who cried at weddings? Or... who cried in _bathrooms_ at weddings? Tears of joy could be shed freely for all to see, and people would just smile and offer a tissue. So if not tears of joy... what? What was there to cry about? 

She opened her mouth to say something, to ask if the other woman, whoever she was, was okay, if there was anything she could do, when the pitch of her breathing changed, became sharper and higher and she wasn't crying, she definitely wasn't crying, and had she not heard Lexa come in? Did she not realize...

... or did she just not care?

Lexa turned to go, to leave her to it, but as she did her bag knocked against the giant vase of fake flowers perched on a tiny glass-topped table, and she had to scramble to keep it from toppling over. "Shit," she hissed as the vase rattled against the glass. 

Silence from the stall, and then, "Hello?"

"I was just leaving," Lexa said, her voice half an octave too high. "Sorry to, um, interrupt. Have a good time!"

_Have a good time?! Lexa, you idiot, you absolute fucking buffoon, did you seriously just tell her to HAVE A GOOD TIME?!_

She darted for the door, yanking on the knob before remembering she'd locked it. She twisted the lock, but before she could get it open, the stall door opened. "Wait."

* * *

_Wait?! What the fuck are you doing, asking her to wait? What the hell do you think you're going to say? 'It's not what it looks like'?_

"It's not what it looks like." 

_Oh, fucking **brilliant**. That'll really convince her._

"I didn't see anything," the woman said. "So... it doesn't look like anything." She turned then, looking back over her shoulder like she wasn't sure she might not see something she didn't want to, or like Clarke was Medusa or something and if she met her eyes she would turn to stone.

But their eyes _did_ meet, and they _both_ turned to stone, because it was her. It was the woman in the dress, the one Clarke had been mentally ogling as she'd touched herself in a church bathroom. 

And now that she'd actually managed to drag her eyes all the way up to her face, all Clarke could think about was touching _her_ in a church bathroom. Or being touched by her. Or, ideally, both. 

She was so totally going to hell.

"I'm beautiful," Clarke blurted, and felt her head basically burst into flames as all of the blood that wasn't stubbornly pooled and pounding between her legs rushed to her head, turning everything from her neck up fire engine red. "I mean I'm Clarke, and you're bea— Fuck.

"Lexa," the woman said, saving her from herself. "I'm Lexa. And you _are_ beautiful, so, I mean, you're not wrong." The corner of her lips – her full, rose-colored lips – quirked up in a smirk, or maybe a smile, and she twisted the lock back into place before letting her hand drop away. She took a step closer, and Clarke almost took a step back, but realized there was really nowhere to go. "I thought you were crying," she added. "I was going to ask if there was anything I could do... to help..."

Which sounded a whole hell of a lot like a proposition, but there was no way, no fucking way in hell or church bathrooms that this woman, this gorgeous fucking woman, was coming on to her. No way she was...

... reaching for her and...

... resting her hand on her hip, no, thigh, right where the hem of her skirt was not quite up and not quite down, toying with it like she was trying to decide which way to go, her fingers splaying so her pinkie rubbed against Clarke's skin...

... her skin and not her pantyhose because in her haste to pull them up she'd ripped right through them and there was a giant run and Lexa had found it and was touching her _skin_ and Clarke's knees wobbled and one heel tipped and...

... she was in Lexa's arms. And Lexa's mouth was the tiniest fraction of an inch away from hers, lips parted, the tip of her tongue darting out, and Clarke crushed their mouths together and chased it with her own.

* * *

Clarke's tongue tasted of cherries. Lexa loved cherries... always had. She remembered picking them straight from the tree and biting into the firm flesh, stripping it away from the stone in the center and then seeing how far she could spit the pit, and getting lectured afterward about how it wasn't ladylike.

_Fuck_ ladylike.

She dragged Clarke's skirt up to her waist and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her already ruined pantyhose and yanked them down her thighs. "Off," she mumbled as Clarke's teeth grazed her lip. "Take them off." 

She wasn't sure how Clarke managed to shimmy out of them without her mouth leaving Lexa's, but she did, and then grabbed Lexa's hand and pressed it to her belly, just above the lacy top of her panties, and Lexa didn't need any more encouragement than that. She pushed Clarke back against the wall, pinning her there with her body as she dragged the soaked silky material down to pool around Clarke's ankles.

Clarke parted her legs, canting her hips toward Lexa, one hand hooking the back of Lexa's elbow like if she didn't make a move soon, Clarke was going to make it for her. "Like this?" Lexa asked, brushing her lips against Clarke's earlobe, flicking it with her tongue as she swiped a finger through Clarke's slick heat. "Is this what you were doing?"

"Uh-huh," Clarke said, the pitch of her voice rising on the second syllable as Lexa pressed a little deeper. "And I was... I was thinking... of you... while I did it," she hissed. 

Lexa bit her lip, tipping her head back enough to catch and hold Clarke's gaze. "Whatever you were thinking," she murmured, "I promise the reality is better." And she thrust into her with two fingers, crooking them as Clarke stifled a groan and rocked into her hand, grinding her clit against the heel as their mouths met again, nipping and sucking, devouring each other, and Lexa swallowed Clarke's moans until it was too hard for her to breathe and she let her head fall back against the wall, rocking back and forth as she shuddered and clenched once, twice, a third time before collapsing forward against Lexa and clinging, sweaty and spent.

Lexa reached for the box of tissues and wiped off her hand, then threaded her fingers into Clarke's hair and drew their mouths together once more, kissing her softly and nuzzling along her jaw until her breathing had steadied a little and her shaking had (mostly) stopped. 

"Well?" she asked. "Was I right, or was I right?"

* * *

Clarke laughed. How could she not laugh? She'd just come so hard she'd seen stars... or maybe God, considering where they were... and now she was being held – held _up_ , really – by the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen, who was looking at her like she was...

Clarke didn't even know. Like she was special, maybe. Like she was precious. 

She'd always been told she was the former: special, gifted, exceptional... but never the latter. Not that she could remember, and never by anyone she would have believed. 

And yet somehow, even though she knew nothing more about Lexa than her name, she believed it. 

"I have never... in my life..." Clarke shook her head. "You were right."

"I know," Lexa said, her eyes sparkling, and Clarke laughed again, but took it as a challenge to wipe that smug smirk off Lexa's face and replace it with something much more gratifying. 

Her fingers were still trembling as she grasped the zipper of Lexa's dress and tugged it down, peeling the material away to trace fingers up her spine, and sure enough, there was nothing to impede their progress, which meant...

Clarke pushed away from the wall, tightening her arms around Lexa, and twisted so that they were sideways to the wall, kissing her hungrily, already tugging at the straps of her dress so they slipped down her shoulders, and then turned again so that now it was Lexa pushed up against it, and Clarke the one holding her there... although Lexa really wasn't putting up any kind of resistance. 

Clarke peeled the top of her dress the rest of the way down, freeing Lexa's breasts and watching as her nipples puckered into tight buds as rosy as her lips and just as tempting. Her nails grazed Lexa's ribs and made her shiver, and her thumbs traced the curve of her breasts and made her sigh. When Clarke's lips began their descent from throat to clavicle to sternum, Lexa's fingers dug into Clarke like she couldn't bear to let her go, and tightened further when the tip of her tongue teased the soft satin skin before her lips closed around the point and sucked. 

"Clarke!" she gasped. "Oh god, Clarke..."

Her back arched, offering herself up, and Clarke moved to the other side, going back and forth a few times before slowly sinking to her knees, lips and tongue brushing Lexa's navel on her way down.

She eased her skirt upward... and discovered that a bra wasn't the only undergarment that Lexa had decided to forego. It was enough to rekindle the fire low in Clarke's belly, but that would have to wait... although maybe not long, because Lexa was already quivering as Clarke pressed a soft, experimental kiss to the nest of sodden curls at the crux of her thighs. 

She pushed the skirt all the way to her waist, letting her hands linger on the firm globes of her ass before slipping back down, kissing her again, this time darting out her tongue, seeking Lexa's clit. Lexa took the hint and eased her legs apart, and Clarke dove in, letting the taste of her fill her mouth as she buried her tongue deep, then eased back to work her clit again, alternately soft strokes with quick flicks, kisses with sucking, and Lexa groaned and growled and ground against her face before her legs gave out completely and they collapsed tangled on the floor.

* * *

Lexa buried her face against Clarke's neck, sucking back tears she didn't want to shed because she didn't want to make this awkward, didn't want to give away the fact that what had started as a lark now felt like much more, maybe too much. 

Probably it was just the fact that they were at a wedding, so love was in the air, and everyone who wasn't already hitched started thinking about it. Or maybe it was the fact that being in a church always put Lexa in a weird emotional state. Or maybe it was that Clarke had just done in... a minute? what usually took so long that most of the women she'd been with had eventually just given up, first on getting her off and then, not long after, on her completely. 

"This carpet is scratchy," Clarke observed.

Lexa hadn't noticed; the fireworks under her skin were still fizzing and sparking. But if Clarke was uncomfortable...

"What do you say we put ourselves back together and sneak out before anyone notices we're gone? Find somewhere a little more comfortable..."

Lexa's heart leapt. Maybe she wasn't the only one who wasn't quite ready to let this go. Maybe she wasn't crazy for thinking that there was something there worth pursuing, seeing where it might lead...

"Like the back seat of a car?" Lexa suggested, cuddling a little closer even though, okay, yeah, the carpet was a little scratchy.

"I was thinking a picnic blanket in an out-of-the-way corner of a public park," Clarke said, her lips twitching. 

"A cemetery, maybe?" Lexa countered. 

Clarke laughed. "Why not?" she asked. "We're clearly already going to hell. But maybe we can start with my hotel room." 

"Boring," Lexa teased. "I'm sure there's a cozy little nook at the reception hall if we decide to put in an appearance. And there'll be cake."

"We wouldn't want to miss cake..."

"And _then_ your hotel room," Lexa said. "And then mine..."

* * *

The organ started to play the recessional, signaling that while Clarke had been on her knees finding God in the beauty of one of His creations, while they'd exchanged wordless vows of mutual worship with fingers clenched and lips pressed, the ceremony had reached its own climax without them. Or maybe with them, in a twisted way, and Clarke had to choke back a laugh. 

They pushed themselves to their feet and pulled themselves back together, fixing tousled hair and smeared lipstick and wrinkled, rucked up skirts. Clarke slid Lexa's zipper back up, making a note to spend a good long time later appreciating the beauty of the tattoo that twined up her spine. 

"There," she said, propping her chin on Lexa's shoulder and wrapping her arms around her waist, looking at their faces side by side in the mirror. "No one will be the wiser."

Lexa twisted around to face her, her peaceful expression suddenly marred by lines carved deep between her brows. "What if... what if I want them to?" she asked. "Not about this, exactly, but..."

Clarke's eyes widened, and she felt her heart thud against her ribcage even as a small smile curved her lips. "No one will be the wiser until we want them to be," she amended. "People hook up at wedding receptions all the time, right?"

The lines disappeared, and Lexa leaned into her, forehead to forehead, their noses brushing. "Right."

Their lips met in one last kiss, soft and sweet and full of promises of things to come. 

But first, cake.

* * *

"Everything okay?" Anya asked, sidling up next to Lexa where she'd slid herself into a group of strangers who had just exited the church, trying to look as if she hadn't taken the long way around from the exit closest to the bathroom. 

"Fine," Lexa said, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her smile in check. Anya could read her like a book, and the last thing she needed right now was for her best friend to figure out what she'd been up to. Not that she'd disapprove... far from it, really. She'd been the one to gently nudge Lexa out of the closet back in college, and to bring offerings of alcohol and ice cream when her first few ventures into the dating scene were complete disasters. If anything, Anya would be obnoxiously enthusiastic about the hook-up, and Lexa had no desire to deal with an evening of nudges and winks.

"You disappeared for a while there," Anya said. "I know you and churches—"

Lexa shook her head, cutting her off. "Nothing like that. Really, I'm fine." She loosened the restraint on her smile just a little, and Anya's shoulders relaxed back into their normal position.

"Should we head out?" Anya said. "I don't want to end up parked in East Nowhere." 

"Sure," Lexa said. She couldn't help sneaking a glance around, pinpointing Clarke in the crowd without even trying. She lifted her hand, just a little, curling her fingers in a wave, and Clarke bit her lip and winked, and Lexa had to swallow hard to keep a groan from escaping. She trailed Anya to the car and slid into the passenger's seat, twisting to reach for her seat belt.

"Um, Lex?" Anya said, "you have some lipstick..." 

Lexa reached for the sun visor to look in the mirror on the back, but Anya shook her head, snickering. "Not on your face," she said, and pointed to where Lexa's skirt had bunched up when she sat down. And there – brazen as Lexa had been in the bathroom – was a smear of Clarke's lipstick on her inner thigh.

Lexa hastily tugged down her skirt and coughed. "Um. It's not what it looks like?" But then she remembered Clarke saying those exact words, and she started to laugh, and once she started she couldn't stop. 

Anya looked at her like she'd lost her mind, but after a few seconds she started to smile, then to grin. "It's _exactly_ what it looks like, isn't it?"

Lexa tried to stop laughing, and ended up snorting instead, and then they were both laughing. "Yeah," she finally managed. "It totally is."

"Let me guess," Anya said. "The blonde in the red dress?"

Lexa pressed her lips together. "Her name is Clarke," she said. "And she started it."

* * *

"Where the hell did you _go_?" Raven asked. "You were gone for like, half the ceremony. You missed all of the important stuff."

"I had to, um, pee," Clarke said. 

"Which takes like five seconds," Raven said. "Five minutes, tops, if you have to fight with pantyhose, which..." Her eyes narrowed. "Weren't you wearing pantyhose before?"

"They got a run," Clarke said, which wasn't a lie. 

"Okay," Raven said. "That still doesn't take that long."

"I may have gotten... distracted," Clarke admitted. "Someone else came into the bathroom while I was in there, and we got talking, and one thing led to another and by the time we realized... it was over."

"One thing led to another," Raven said, one eyebrow arching. "Really."

"Um...?"

"One thing led to another... in a church bathroom... during a wedding." 

"Uh..."

"You couldn't even wait until the _reception_ like a normal person?!" Raven rolled her eyes. "He—" She stopped, having realized that Clarke had said that the person had walked into the bathroom while Clarke was in there. " _She_ must have been really something, if you were willing to risk a bolt of lightning coming down and smiting you." She smirked. 

"Oh, she was," Clarke said. "She is."

* * *

Lexa cursed whoever decided that assigned seats at a wedding was a good idea. Not only did it require the newlyweds (or the soon-to-be-newlyweds, she guessed, since they would have to make the decisions about who sat where before the wedding) to create a hierarchy of friends and family, deciding who rated a seat near the head table and who got stuck in the back straining their ears to hear the toasts and craning their necks to see the first dance, but it also meant there was no chance of her being anywhere near Clarke, since they were there for opposite grooms. 

"Don't sulk," Anya said, settling into the seat next to Lexa. "Once we've eaten you can go find her." 

_By then she may have decided it was a mistake,_ Lexa thought. But before the thought could really sink its teeth in, she felt something brush her arm, there and gone, raising goosebumps all along her skin. By the time she looked up, Clarke was already two tables away, but Lexa had absolutely no doubt that it had been her. She squirmed in her chair. The food couldn't arrive fast enough...

* * *

"Are you two going to eye-fuck each other all night?" Raven asked. 

"No," Clarke said, tearing her eyes away from Lexa and the way her long fingers curved so elegantly around her fork and knife, and the way she kept brushing back her hair so it didn't get into her food, and...

"Just don't graduate to the real fucking on the dance floor," Raven said. "I mean, you probably wouldn't be alone, what with the open bar and all, but..."

Clarke just grinned at her, and tried to focus on the conversation happening, and then the toasts and everything else. She probably owed it to the happy couple, since she'd missed their 'I do's. Once the music came up, and people started getting up and mingling, she didn't even try to pretend that she had eyes for anyone but Lexa. 

They met halfway, and Clarke resisted the urge to take Lexa's hand because they were still playing like nothing had happened yet, weren't they? Even though Raven knew, and Clarke suspected from the smirk and cheesy thumbs up that Lexa's friend flashed her, she did too. 

"Ignore her," Lexa whispered, her breath warming the side of Clarke's face, and fuck it, Clarke had never been good at pretending, or being subtle. She tangled her fingers with Lexa's and pulled her in, letting their bodies move together to the beat. 

They danced until they were sweaty and their lips dry, then went to the bar for drinks. Clarke didn't really need alcohol – she was drunk on Lexa – but she wasn't about to pass up a free drink. She watched Lexa suck on the cherry that had been dropped into her glass, and her eyes flicked around, looking for somewhere they could disappear for a little while...

Then the music dropped, and the grooms were called out onto the dance floor. "Now, neither of us has a bouquet to toss," Jackson said, "but..." He lifted his pant leg to display a beribboned garter around his calf, and everyone laughed. 

Nate lifted his own pant legs, but all he revealed was socks, so he shrugged and pulled off his boutonniere. "You know the drill," he said. "All the single ladies – and all the single guys – and all the single people who don't identify as either – gather on up!"

Clarke glanced at Lexa, who shrugged, and they went to join the singles. Neither of them had any illusions about this lasting beyond tonight; what happened in the church bathroom stayed in the church bathroom... or the reception hall... or the hotel, at least. When everyone was gathered, Nate slid the garter from Jackson's leg and fired it into the assembled crowd. For a second Clarke lost track of it in all the swirling lights... and then it smacked her in the chest, nestling comfortably in her cleavage.

Clarke shrugged and held it up, and everyone cheered.

* * *

Lexa stared at the cluster of flowers in her hand. She hadn't meant to catch it. Not after Clarke had caught – or been caught by – the garter. She didn't want Clarke to think... But a lifetime of playing softball, including four years in college on a full ride scholarship, meant that when she saw a projectile flying through the air in her vicinity, she caught it. 

_Fucking muscle memory,_ she thought. She didn't believe in the ridiculous superstition that said the person who caught the bouquet – or whatever – would be the next to get married. The fact that she and Clarke had been the ones to do it, without really trying, didn't actually _mean_ anything. But she couldn't stop the tiny thrill that ran through her when everyone clustered around them, laughing and teasing. Then the music went up again, and people started dancing, and they were just another couple – but not really – in the crowd.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Lexa asked, offering the slightly scrunched bunch of roses and baby's breath to Clarke. Clarke considered, then tried to tuck it behind Lexa's ear. When that didn't work, she poked it under the strap of her dress, and if she maybe accidentally brushed her fingers along the curve of Lexa's breast in the process, what of it?

"What about this?" Clarke asked, holding up the garter. "Any ideas what I might do with this?"

Lexa flushed. "Several," she said, wrapping an arm around Clarke's waist and tugging her in. "But not here."

* * *

Lexa's fingers slid up her calf, over her knee, up her thigh as she eased the garter higher, until it couldn't stretch any more, and looked up at Clarke from her position between her legs and smiled. "There," she said, her voice gone as rough and ragged as Clarke's breathing. She clung to the drapes of the little alcove they'd found, far enough out of the way that it was unlikely anyone would find them, but...

"Shh," Lexa whispered, reaching up under Clarke's skirt and hooking her fingers over the elastic at her hips, drawing her panties down until they tangled with the freshly placed garter, then easing them past it and removing them completely. "Shh," she said again, her lips brushing Clarke's skin as she edged up her skirt, and, "Shh," again as she pressed a kiss to her clit and parted her with her tongue. 

Clarke started to come almost as soon as Lexa found her clit again, and it seemed to go on and on, each peak overlapping the one before it, gathering momentum until climax crashed over her like a tsunami, and she muffled a scream in the dusty velvet, feeling Lexa's arms around her thighs, bracing her as she writhed and bucked against her face before her knees gave out completely, and it was only her grip on the curtains and Lexa's hold on her that kept her from collapsing. 

"Come here," she panted, dragging Lexa's face to her, kissing the taste of her own arousal from her mouth, and they were going to need to find a bathroom before anyone saw them again, because Lexa's lipstick was smeared everywhere. From the gleam in Lexa's eyes and the wicked smirk that twisted her lips, she had absolutely no regrets. 

"Come here," Clarke repeated, one still-trembling hand gripping Lexa's back, the other already under her dress, between her legs, driving into the slick heat of her core. Lexa groaned, rocking into her touch, grinding against Clarke's thumb positioned against her clit. "Come _now,_ " she whispered, feeling Lexa starting to pulse and clench around her. "Come for me..."

* * *

Lexa pressed her face into Clarke's neck as she did exactly what Clarke asked, the orgasm tearing through her and leaving her limp as a wrung-out washcloth in its wake. She found Clarke's mouth but couldn't quite manage to coordinate her lips to kiss her, and she felt Clarke's curve against hers in a smile like she understood.

"No one's ever..." Lexa finally managed to gasp. "Not like that. Not twice..."

"What about three times?" Clarke asked, her fingers gliding over Lexa's clit as she withdrew them from inside of her. Lexa's entire body jerked at the aftershock it sent through her. "Or four?"

"Never," Lexa said. 

"We'll get there," Clarke said, like a vow or a promise, and Lexa believed her. "We've got all night."

"I think we're missing the cake," Lexa said. "Isn't that why we came?" She flushed. "No pun intended."

Clarke laughed. "Okay," she said. " _After_ the cake." But then Lexa kissed her again, and again, and again, and they didn't head back to the reception after all. 

_Maybe,_ Clarke thought as her hotel room door closed behind them and they shed their clothes and toppled into bed, _someone will save us some..._


End file.
